


Clouds

by conceptofzero



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-16
Updated: 2011-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-24 16:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conceptofzero/pseuds/conceptofzero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Windswept Questant watches as it all goes horribly wrong. For years, she has waiting for this moment, she has kept the memory of what she saw in the clouds in her mind and clung to it during the dark times, knowing that it would come true. She saw this, Bec Noir and the Wastelandic Vindicator fighting in the clouds, battling in green and black against the ruins of the Battlefield. She remembers vividly seeing Bec Noir die, impaled on a sword, his chest bloody with wounds. And yet, this is not what she sees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clouds

The Windswept Questant watches as it all goes horribly wrong. For years, she has waiting for this moment, she has kept the memory of what she saw in the clouds in her mind and clung to it during the dark times, knowing that it would come true. She saw this, Bec Noir and the Wastelandic Vindicator fighting in the clouds, battling in green and black against the ruins of the Battlefield. She remembers vividly seeing Bec Noir die, impaled on a sword, his chest bloody with wounds.

And yet, this is not what she sees. What the Windswept Questant sees is Bec Noir bisect the Wastelandic Vindicator, and she watches with horror as he falls, black and green and now red descending towards the centre of the Battlefield. She claps her hands over her mouth, holding back the scream of horror building inside of her. This is not what's meant to happen. This is not how it is meant to go.

Yet he falls, and falls, and disappears into the planet's maze. The Prospitian Monarch screams, and she and the Armaments Regent rush to the edge of the planet, balancing so precariously on the sides of a tangled snarl.

There is a flash of green light and Bec Noir lands before them. The exiles stumble back from him, and with horror, WQ watches as PM steps back and straight off the edge. She screams, her voice going quiet as she slips into the dark of the planet's core. AR lunges for her all too late, his hands catching noting but air. Those frightened white eyes turn to Bec Noir, and he falls to his knees, trembling and afraid at the sight of his face.

The Writ Keeper tightens his grip on the staff in his hands, and the Windswept Questant desperately wishes she had a weapon in her hands. If she has to die, she wants to die fighting, not helplessly struck down by Bec Noir's bloody blade, and his red right hand. But all her weapons are on Prospit, and all she has are her fists, and they won't be enough.

"So she cheated to bring me those crowns," Bec Noir says, his voice turning the air green as he speaks, "If she wasn't already falling to her death, I'd kill her for lying to me. I still might. Could be fun to put a few more holes in her."

"You won't win," WK says, and she looks at him, knowing that this will be the last time they speak to one another. They are about to die to this usurper, and it will all mean nothing. The clouds lied to her. They've killed them all.

"I already have," The air distorts around him, and he disappears, the universe flooding into the place he once was. She turns to look at her husband, only to find him staring down at the sword sticking out of his chest. Her heart stops, and she meets those shocked dark eyes of his, and she's afraid, she's very afraid.

Bec Noir pushes the WK off of his sword, and the Writ Keeper falls to the ground, blood gathering in a pool around him. She wants to rush to his side, but Bec Noir's sword is coated with blood, and he's clearly just waiting for his moment to strike. The Windswept Questant meets his eyes, and forces back fear at the sight of his long, pointed jaws. This isn't right. This isn't right at all. It should have never come to this. Bec Noir should be dead by all rights, the sword in his hands through his chest instead, but he's alive. Her husband is dead and he's alive.

"What, got nothing to say to me?" He grins, but she's not sure he can do anything but grin with that mouth of his. Bec Noir is nothing but sharp teeth and sharp fingers just waiting to dig into her carapace. He pauses though, sniffing the air, and turning on AR, "I know you. Why the hell do I know you?"

AR covers his head, shivering with fear. It's only when Bec Noir nearly teleports right on top of him that AR does anything, scrambling back in fear, "I-i-i-"

"You're the Authority Regulator," Bec Noir regards him like he's something nasty to be scraped off the bottom of his foot. He leans in and bares all his teeth, "Run."

AR does just that, climbing onto his feet and running as fast as he can. Bec Noir laughs, a harsh barking sound, and turns back to the Windswept Questant. Her eyes fall on the Writ Keeper's staff, then back to Bec Noir.

"I'll chase him down in a moment, once he's got a little distance. But first, I need to finish with you," His torso ripples with something green, something too powerful for any one man, and tentacles sprout out, reminding her so much of the Red Miles running over the Battlefield, decimating all, "Remember these? I bet you do. Bet there's someone on Prospit who looks a little like me who remembers 'em too, remembers them real well. Or – heh – used to remember them."

She is about to die. WQ knows this. She is afraid, she is so very afraid, but she won't let it show. Instead, she puts her faith in the clouds and hopes that she just didn't understand the signs right. Maybe WV isn't dead. Or maybe another champion will rise. There nothing to do but to trust in the clouds... and to use her death to buy AR time to escape Bec Noir.

"Try," He dares her, and she makes her move, even though it's futile. It's still hers to make, a choice that even he can't take from her.

He is so much faster than her. WQ barely takes a step and he's there, grasping onto her with the bloody hand of his and knocking her off of her feet and onto the ground. But she's fast too, she's still a Queen, even if she no longer wears the crown or ring, and she twists, getting her knees beneath her. She attempts to grab onto the sword in his hand, but her fingers slide through the air where he was. A foot slams into the top of her head, knocking her forward and onto the ground. It hurts, it sincerely hurts, and when she tries to rise, a tentacle wraps around her arms, keeping her trapped on all fours. WQ tries to pull her arms away but it knots itself tightly around them, pinning her forearms to the ground. The other tentacle curls around he throat, yanking her head up just enough to really hurt.

Bec Noir is directly behind her, and WQ can't get a good look at him. His sword lands on the ground beside them and his hand settles on her head, pushing her face first into the ground. She shudders at how warm his touch is. That's her husband's blood on his hands, and the blood of WV, and all his other victims. She waits for him to kill her, to crush her skull or pick up his sword and slit her throat.

The killing blow never comes. He settles himself behind her, pressing his hips flush against her. His intentions become all too clear when she feels his erection press against her. WQ freezes. This isn't the sort of distraction she had in mind. This isn't anything at all like what she thought it would be.

"You know what the biggest shame is?" Bec Noir says, talking casually to her like his cock isn't pressed against her, "When I killed the Black Queen, I didn't really get a chance to enjoy myself. She was in pieces before I could reign the rabbit in, and despite to what people might have said about me, I'm not that kinda fellow."

"I'm not her," WQ whispers, and when she speaks, the tentacle tightens, her voice tightening with it, "I've never been her."

"You're the same, 'cept for the colour," She can't see him, not when she's looking ahead, but she can hear him and feel him. He slides his hand off of her head, and into the fabric wrapped around her body, easily ripping it open from her neck to hem between her legs, "Same tits, same cunt, same smug fucking face. You even sound the same. I've always wondered how she'd sound when I fucked her."

"If you mean to kill me, just kill me. Do not do this," WQ tries not to beg, but that proves harder than she expected. Dying is one thing, this is another. She doesn't want to die, but this is so much worse. There's no dignity in this. She lifts her head, trying to turn around and catch his eye, "Do not-"

"I'm not looking for your input," Cold terror builds in the pit of her stomach as he holds his hand in front of her mouth, "Spit."

"Please," She whispers, and his hand waits there, just below her lips. This is terrible, but the thought of Bec Noir finding other lubricants is even more awful. Her mouth is dry, and though she tries, all she can manage is mist. Bec Noir barks with laughter and removes his hand, "Please don't."

"Don't worry, I've got plenty of spit up here," He tells her, voice muffled for a moment. When he brings his hand back beneath them and moves his hand over his cock, she can feel the wetness there, "You'll be begging me for more by the time we're done."

"I've seen your future in the clouds," She tries to bargain, desperate to keep him from pushing inside of her, "I know what happens to you. I will give you their secrets-"

"I don't give a fuck about the clouds," He lines himself up and she panics, yanking and pulling against the tentacles holding her tight. Bec Noir just presses his body against hers, forcing her face back down to the ground, "This is the only thing I give a damn about."

He thrusts forward and impales her on his cock, and he laughs at the sound she makes. All the air leaves WQ's lungs, cast out by the sudden force. She lays there in shock, heart pounding in her chest. The monster is inside of her, and there's not a thing she can do about it. His skin crackles where they're pressed together, and the tentacle around her neck tightens momentarily, just hard enough to make it so she can't catch her breath.

"Fuck," He mutters, and like that, the tentacle slackens. Bec Noir pulls back, and then thrusts in again, just as she starts to catch her breath. The sound she makes it too weak for a scream, high and breathless and terrified, "That's good. That's really good. You like it? Like how it feels?"

"No," She manages to say, and she shudders as his hand leaves her head, slipping beneath her body and palming a breast, "Stop, I demand that you stop-" Whatever she says must trigger something in him because he yanks her head up, choking her with the loops around her neck.

Bec Noir starts to thrust steadily, his front pressed tight against her back. Each thrust moves the both of them, her elbows and knees scraping against the surface of the Battlefield. His hand squeezes and strokes her breasts, and she struggles to keep breathing, even though that's the last thing she wants to do, "Let me make one thing crystal fucking clear," He tells her, fucking her mercilessly, "You don't give orders. I give orders. You take them, and maybe when I'm done I'll kill you nice and quick. Or maybe I'll keep you around."

"No, please no," She begs, cold terror in her chest at the thought of living through this more than once. He squeezes her breasts, hips jerking steadily forward as he fucks her, his weight pressing down against her back. There's a strange feeling, a crackle of something that's pain and pleasure in the same moment, and she cries out again. WQ fights to clamp down on all noise. If she has to suffer through this, then she isn't going to give him the satisfaction of hearing her in pain.

"You're getting real fucking wet," His jaws slide over her back and she flinches at the touch of his fangs, and the heat of his breath. Bec Noir is grinning and she closes her eyes, trying to wrack her mind for the answers, any answers to explain this. Nothing comes to her. The clouds showed her many things, but they never showed her this: raped on the Battlefield, not ten feet away from her dead husband. Bec Noir squeezes the tentacle around her neck until her eyes open, "That's right. Don't go anywhere. I want you here for this. I want to watch as you start to love this."

"I won't," Maybe defiance is a poor choice but it's all she has. And it's the truth: there is nothing he can do to make her want this, or like it, or feel anything but pure revulsion in the pit of her stomach. What he's doing is monstrous, and no amount of skill can change that, "There's nothing you can do to make me like this."

He laughs. It's mean and nasty and petty, just like him, "Yeah? Just watch me."

The Windswept Questant steels herself. She knows what to expect. It won't be enough, not for what he wants. Not when his hand is covered in the blood of the people she loved and cared about. But she's wrong, because she expects him to follow the rules, and she should know by now that Bec Noir doesn't know what rules are.

The crackle comes again, hitting her harder than before. She tastes green, and she feels the horrible, overwhelming pulse of pleasure/pain. He thrusts and it hits her again, making her scream. Bec Noir laughs, and repeats it, and as his cock slams into her, followed by another wave of the horrible, overwhelming sensation. She gasps with shock, and pleasure, and most of all, with shame that he's so easily overcoming her defences.

"Not so mouthy anymore, are you?" Noir's body is lying flush against hers, and she can hear the crackle just before it hits her, just as his cock continues to drive into her, forcing her towards something she does not want. His fingers pinch a nipple and shock it directly, and she can't stop the sob that works it's way out of her throat. Her body tenses and he licks the side of her face, "That's it, go on, I want to hear what she would sound like when she's coming. Let me know how much she would have loved having me inside of her."

WQ squeezes her eyes tight, thinking about anything she can to keep from being pushed over the edge. But nothing is enough, nothing works like it should, not when he' s using the powers of the First Guardian against her. The build keeps going, going, building deep inside of her no matter how hard she fights it. If anything, it gets worse the more she fights, as if her resistance fuels it. On the next wave of energy, she feels something snap deep inside of her, and then utterly without her permission, she comes, all the sounds forcing themselves out of her mouth in one single, strangled cry.

There's no energy in her body and she just sags forward, her face sliding along the Battlefield's surface. She is exhausted, and more than that, she feels so sick to her stomach that she'd rather just black out than be awake a moment longer. Jack slips out of her, but as soon as he can, he gets a hand under her hips and yanks them back up, forcing her into position again. Her eyes stay shut as he pushes inside, only opening when his mouth presses against one ear, "Good effort, but I always figured she'd be a little louder, a little sluttier. How about you stop holding back and really get into it?"

"I-I. I see no point," WQ speaks softly, but she crafts her words with all the vitriol she can muster, hoping silently that he will lose control and kill her before she suffers through another indignity. She's not afraid of death anymore, not if death means freedom from this, "You would n-never be able to make her make any such noises."

"What?" The tentacle around her throat tightens, and it's suddenly very hard to breath, "Are you sure you want to say that?"

"Y-you. Would never b-be. Able to. Make her s-sound like. That," She chokes on the words, but manages to force them out anyway. The tentacle squeezes hard enough that she can hear her carapace crack, that she can't even breathe. WQ keeps her eyes closed, giving into her fate. Maybe her husband will be there waiting for her, just on the other side of the darkness.

But just as the darkness crowds in at the edges of her vision, just as she can almost feel him at the edges of her mind, the tentacle loosens and air slips back into her lungs. Even though she doesn't want to breathe, her body does it anyway, sucking in air and filling her burning lungs. WQ's eyes are watering, and she bites back painful unpleasant sobs at her body's second betrayal, the worst betrayal of all.

As she sucks in breath after breath, Bec Noir licks a stripe up the back of her head and she shudders, "Clever, really fucking clever. You almost got me. But you're not getting out of this that easily. I already killed one of you too early," And another pulse of green goes through her, wrenching a strangled cry from her throat, "That's right. We've got a long way to go."

"Just kill me," She begs, too tired and too ashamed to be defiant. Her champion is dead, her Queen is dead, her husband is dead, and soon, the only other carapace alive will be hunted down and killed like a dog as soon as Bec Noir tires of her. Death is inevitable and she would rather face oblivion than suffer through this torture.

"We've moved beyond that," Bec Noir begins to thrust again, his hand painfully squeezing one breast. Her arms nearly give out but he pushes her back up again, even as his weight presses down on her back, "I haven't had a chance to put your mouth to use yet, or the rest of you. We've got weeks ahead of us at this rate. Maybe months. Maybe years. There's a lot of things I always wanted to do to her that I can finally use you for."

"You'll die," Questant says, her voice warbling with each thrust, and she desperately clings to the vision she saw in the clouds. It must happen. She'll be dead long before it comes to pass, but she has to believe in it, believe that it will come to pass and her people will be free – though who knows if there will be any of them left by that time, "You'll die, I've seen it in the clouds."

"Did you see this? I bet you did," Another thick hot lick up the back of her neck, and the snap and crackle of green that nearly makes her weep from the force, "I bet you did and you couldn't wait to be fucked like this. You been touching yourself for years out in the desert, trying to imagine what it would be like?"

"You sick, sad-aahh!" She doesn't get a chance to get the words out before another bolt of energy runs through her, washing over her mind with that double-edged sword of pain and pleasure. Questant doesn't get a moment's rest. He hits her again and again, the energy snapping between them, shocking her breasts and the space between her thighs, and the back of her neck where it's still painfully wet. She fights as long as she can, but it becomes too much and the sound tumbles out of her is a low and throaty moan.

"That's right, that's what I want to hear," His cock is buried uncomfortable deep inside of her, and all she can taste is blood. Bec Noir slides his hand up to her face, fingers prodding at her mouth, "Moan like the whore you really are. Loud enough for that fat fuck to hear you, so he knows exactly what I'm doing to you."

"No!" He plays dirty, shocking her the moment she says anything. It's awful. She can feel the pressure building up inside of her hips again, the horrible signal that she's not too far away from another climax. Questant fights it as long as she can, but it's hopeless. He's got a good grip on her, and when she struggles, it just seems to excite him more. Bec Noir pants in her ear, his hips thrusting ever faster, into her.

"Say it," He demands, slamming his hips into hers. His fingers pinch her mouth together, as if forcing the words out. The tentacle around her neck slips away and she finds it slide around both breasts, tightening and slithering and delivering nasty bolts to her skin, "Come on you cunt, beg for it. Beg me to come inside of you. Beg me to give you exactly what your waste of skin husband never could."

The Questant is nearly sobbing when he shoves her face against the Battlefield and suddenly halts. Her body is just on edge, the perfect combination of thrusts and crackling energy having pushed her to this state. And yet, unlike last time, he pushes her this far and no farther, torturing her with the edge of an orgasm. She balls her hands into fists, fighting against the way she's throbbing with want, resisting against how much a single thrust would solve everything.

"Beg," Bec Noir snarls into her ear, his fingers digging into the flesh of her mouth. She knows what he wants to hear from her. And it's so hard not to say it, even harder not to wriggle beneath him, to rut against his cock and be done with this awful business. But she won't give him the satisfaction of breaking her. WQ doesn't have much left, but she has that. His fingers dig in deeper and he growls, "Come on you whore, I can feel how badly you want this. Say it."

Her eyes look forward, and she sees a cloud floating lazily above the battlefield. Bec Noir is in it. There's a sword high in his chest, too high for the one usually through his stomach, and there's a mess where his face once was. It's the future. It's the near future. It has to be. She closes her eyes and trusts in Prospit, in the clouds, "No."

The tentacle snaps around her neck again, and suddenly she's choking unable to breathe at all. Bec Noir presses his hand on the back of her head and starts to fuck her again. She shudders but doesn't come, thank god. They waited too long, and without the constant pulse of power, she's no longer hopelessly near the edge. He stops demanding she beg, stops taunting her. Bec Noir just rapes her and WQ tries to send her mind far away from here.

It's only as they reach the end, as his hips lose their pacing, that she hears him start to laugh. She tenses up, waiting for the death blow. But she receives something far worse. His cock quickly slams in and out, his hips hitting her backside hard enough to bruise. Bec Noir's hand tightens and she feels him lift his body off of her back momentarily, howling. She feels him come, but worst of all, she feels the overwhelming power slamming through her, completely blotting out any and all conscious thought. The Questant comes so hard that she feels like her body will tears itself apart, and when her mind comes back, she realizes that the faint screaming sounds are from her mouth.

Bec Noir mistakes them for screams of a different kind, chuckling darkly into her ear. He's still inside of her, and she feels an awful warmth between her thighs, an unnatural heat from what he's left within her, "Told you I'd hear what you really sound like. It's good, real nice. But I think we can use a repeat performance. How about once again, but this time with some real feeling?"

Her head slides to the side and she can't stop the terrified tears gathering in her eyes. WQ isn't sure she can go through another round of this and not go completely insane. Even though she trusts in the clouds, all she can feel in this moment is pure terror. Death has to come, and swiftly, either for her or him. She can't stand any more of this.

Bec Noir lifts his hand off her head, letting it creep down her throat and breasts, and to her belly. Just as she starts to tense, it suddenly stalls, "Look at that. He came back."

She looks. It's AR. He's obviously terrified, but he's slowly advancing towards them, carrying a broken spear in one hand. WQ shakes her head, trying to send him away. She doesn't dare speak; she can't trust her voice. He meets her eyes, but he doesn't stop. It's obvious he's terrified, the hand holding the spear shakes hard enough that she thinks he might drop it. When he speaks, she barely hears him, catching only the end, "-her alone."

Jack laughs, raising himself up, "You know, it's no fun if you aren't running."

"I-I said," AR raises his voice, and it's as shaky as his hands, "Leave her alone."

"Or what?" He slides out of her, dropping WQ on the ground and picking his sword up. She wants to grab the staff lying by her husband, wants to strike at him while Noir's distracted. But her body is like jelly, and though she fights to stand, she fails miserably, barely even getting onto her knees. Bec Noir ignores her, "You're going to hit me with that little stick?"

"I am the law," AR says, nearly a whisper, and when Bec Noir laughs, he repeats it again, loud and defiant, "I am the law! You have committed crimes against the people of Derse and Prospit! Attempted genocide! Multiple counts of murder in the first and second degrees! One count of rape! Three counts of regicide!"

There's a crackle, the sound of the universe dying one moment at a time, and Bec Noir is right in front of AR. AR takes a step back, barely holding onto the broken pole in his hand, but he doesn't cower, and he doesn't look away. He meets Bec Noir's eyes, even as he bares those terrible white teeth in his head. WQ moves toward the staff, fighting with her body ever inch of the way. Either Bec Noir doesn't notice, or doesn't care, looking AR in the eye, "That all?"

"Is that all? Is that all?" AR tightens his grip, and his voice grows stronger, defiant in a way that hurts to hear. He's dead, it's just a matter of Bec Noir striking out against him. "You are guilty! You will be brought to justice!"

While Bec Noir laughs at AR, she struggles with herself, fighting the horrible lethargy that's weighing down on her. WQ's body wants nothing more than to quit, but she fights it ever inch of the way, and finally, her hand closes on the staff. Her eyes fix on her husband for one brief moment before she wrenches them away. The staff digs into the battlefield and she leans on it as she stands.

The Windswept Questant manages to stay on her feet, the staff giving her the support she desperately needs. AR stares down Bec Noir, even though it’s obvious that it’s taking every inch of bravado he has not to fall onto his knees and beg for mercy. But they both stand, even though it’s going to mean their deaths, even though they can’t do a damned thing to stop him.

“This is fucking pathetic,” Bec Noir appears directly in front of her, and it’s so hard not to flinch. But if she flinches, she’ll fall, and that is the absolute last thing she wants to do. She meets his eyes instead, her fingers clenching tight around the staff as he leans in close, those sharp white teeth of his all too close to her throat, “This is the best you can muster?”

WQ draws on what little strength she has left, staring Bec Noir down, “No. This is the best I can muster.”

She raises the staff, prepared for the killing blow, for whatever horrors he throws at her. But there’s a flash of green, and then there are two of them in front of her. It takes WQ a moment to realize that one of them is a Prospitian, her familiar features twisted by the jaws of a monster.

PM should be dead. PM fell from the highest of heights, tumbling ever after WV. But she’s here and her hand is sunk inside of Bec Noir up to her elbow, an ugly potent energy running over their bodies. The Battlefield quakes and the sky grows black and bright green, and they snarl at each other like rabid dogs. Bec Noir’s tentacles wrap around PM, trying to strangle and tear her limb from limb and he tries to stab her, but the sword phases through her. PM manages speak, words slurring around her new teeth and mouth, “Now! Do it now!”

WQ stops hesitating. She slams the staff down into Bec Noir’s head. It slides through like there’s nothing there, jutting into his body but not out the other side. There’s a hole in the world where he’s standing.

And then suddenly, there’s no hole. There’s just a man and a woman, and a staff stuck straight through his head where the hole used to be. The staff jolts as flesh reforms around it, and everything goes quiet. Energy snaps and crackles, but the hole doesn’t get any less real. Blood trickles around the staff, and Bec Noir’s legs give out. He falls and PM falls with him, her arm trapped inside of his chest and Bec Noir's sword in her shoulder. The sword jolts out of Noir's hand as they land on the ground.

“Help-” PM gasps out, the tentacles still wrapped around her throat. WQ claws them off of PM, ignoring her own panic that swells simply as she touches the dead flesh. Except, they aren’t so dead. Despite the arm in his chest and the staff in his head, Bec Noir is alive and he lashes out at them. WQ screams as the tentacle wraps around her arm and she claws and tears at it, wanting nothing so much as to utterly destroy it.

AR comes running over, and he grabs onto Bec Noir’s hand, trying to yank the ring off. Noir clenches his hand into a fist, and he unsnakes one tentacle from around PM, lashing out at AR with it. It wraps around a leg, easily snapping it. The sound is sickening and though AR screams out in pain, he doesn't stop. He yanks at the fingers, and when that doesn't work, he leans in and bites, and bites again, trying to get the ring off. It won't work, can't work. They're wasting time.

She forces herself to ignore the tentacle and the way her throat fills with bile, and she grabs onto the sword, pulling it from PM's shoulder. It comes loose, and she doesn't give a warning, swinging it high and bringing it down on Bec Noir's arm. The blade cuts through the carapace, severing it, and in a flash of green, the prototyping falls away and leaves behind a carapace with one missing arm. Jack Noir twitches and goes still, finally dead.

WQ raises the sword again, bringing it down into Jack's stomach and cracking the carapace. PM pulls her arm out of the space, covered in blood and crackling with green energy. And then the Windswept Questant brings the sword down again, and again, and again, smashing and stabbing the Slayer's corpse. Neither AR or PM move to stop her. They simply sit there and watch as she pulverizes him.

It's only when there's nothing left to destroy that she stops, blood splattered over her body and coating her arms. Even though there's not much left to Noir, she still wants to keep stabbing until there's nothing left at all. But she's so tired, so unbelievable tired. WQ drops sword away and crawls away from the body, leaving bloody tracks in her wake.

"WQ..." PM says, but WQ can barely look at her when she's wearing that monster's face, his smiling jaws in white instead of black. She doesn't ask if WQ is okay, and that's good, because WQ can't even trust herself to speak. If her mouth opens, all that will come out is a long, thin scream. There's a flash of green and she's gone, and then another flash, back a moment later. WQ flinches, can't help but flinching, and her heart is racing in her chest whens he looks again.

PM sets something on the ground and pushes it towards the Questant. It's a blanket. AR seems to realize that WQ is naked and he carefully averts his eyes, looking anywhere that isn't her direction. WQ nods to PM, still not able to say a thing, and she unfolds the blanket with shaking hands. It wraps around her, hiding the bloody handprints from Bec Noir and whatever other marks he left behind.

As soon as she's wrapped up, she mutely watched as AR leans over and throws his arms around PM's neck, hugging the startled woman. "I'm sorry," He squeezes and WQ crawls further away, unable to be near to them at this moment. "I'm sorry, I tried to catch you-"

"I know," PM sets her hand on AR's head, comforting him. But all WQ can see is the blood on her hand, the blood that's all around them, pools of it, coating their bodies and smearing over their clothes. It feels like she'll never be clean again, that they'll be forever stained with red. WQ turns away, and her eyes fall on her husband's body, lying so close to her. She crawls toward him.

He's still warm when she sets her hands on his body, but there's no heartbeat in that barrel chest of his. Her husband is dead, and he won't be coming back. WQ wraps her fingers in his clothes and presses her face to his chest, closing her eyes and waiting for the tears to come. But she has nothing left to give, not even her sorrow.

All she has is silence and blood.


End file.
